


Watching Paint Dry

by MarzgaPerez



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: A minuscule amount of angst, Domestic Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, First Apartment, Fluff, Husbands, M/M, One Shot, post s10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:14:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24031120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarzgaPerez/pseuds/MarzgaPerez
Summary: Two husbands hanging out in their new apartment, watching paint dry together...because Gallavich doing nearly nothing, as long as they’re together, makes me happy.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 18
Kudos: 153





	Watching Paint Dry

It’s a couple of months after the wedding. Mickey can’t believe they’ve scored a decent two bedroom apartment, but here they are, finishing the first coat of paint on the walls of their guest bedroom. The color they ended up with is a compromise. Mickey wanted something cheerful for their younger visitors (Liam or Franny), while Ian insisted on a neutral beige for their possible older guests (Fiona or Mandy), and because, as he told Mickey, _I’m pretty vanilla, if you hadn’t noticed_.

“Vanilla? Not you, firecrotch.”

It’s a slate gray color on the walls and speckled across their faded t-shirts and forearms. The first coat needs another hour to dry, and Ian and Mickey are seated side-by-side in the main room on the only real piece of furniture in their apartment—a shitty second-hand couch that won’t be so shitty after it gets re-covered. That’s on the list for next week; Mickey knows a guy. 

It’s likely that most of their furniture will be second-hand, but over Mickey’s dead body is their first place together going to look like a shitshow. Mickey laughs when Ian tells him that he’s morphed from wedding-planner extraordinaire into an HGTV-worthy interior decorator. But he knows his husband appreciates this side of him. And Ian Gallagher learned a long time ago that there’s more to Mickey Milkovich than meets the eye.

Being alone in their new place is a new kind of quality time—no cable and no WiFi. And no other people. Just a newly painted room and the familiar afternoon noises of a city they know so well. Mickey makes a joke about how there’s no one in the world he’d rather watch paint dry with.

“You’re such a romantic, Mick,” Ian tells him before hopping up from the couch to grab them some beers out of the fridge. He also brings back a can of Pringles and other assorted junk food items from the kitchen, then settles back in next to Mickey, looping a hand over his shoulder. They sit in comfortable silence, enjoying the fall air wafting in through the open windows and the taste of cold beer sliding down their throats after a few hours of hard work.

Ian smirks at the tattered wallpaper in the main room, a floral pattern from the 70’s, which is oddly charming. They’ll have to get rid of eventually, but for now, he likes to imagine that an older couple—Benny and Florence—picked it out when they first moved into the apartment as newlyweds.

“Should we start on the _master_ bedroom now?” Mickey asks, eyeing the two unopened cans of sage green paint in the corner of the room. He’s agreed to that color without much debate because it reminds him of the light flecks of green in Ian’s eyes.

“Nah,” breathes Ian. “Just wanna sit here with you.” He shifts closer to his husband and wriggles himself so that his head is resting against Mickey’s shoulder. “Here,” he says, handing his almost empty bottle over. “You can have the last sip.”

“Backwash, huh? Mighty generous of you,” is Mickey’s amused response as he finishes what’s left in the bottle. Ian moves to press his ear against Mickey’s chest, like Mickey doesn’t know what he’s doing, trying to listen to his heartbeat, like the sap he is. Ian always swears up and down that their hearts are in sync, not caring how ridiculously corny he sounds or that Mickey usually makes a gagging noise after he says it. But rather than give him shit right now, Mickey leans down to nuzzle his nose into Ian’s soft red hair, breathing in the familiar scent of his shampoo and planting a kiss on top of his head. 

This is nice. Still. Calm. Eerily quiet with no Gallaghers or their random-ass houseguests underfoot. And no Milkoviches blustering through the room with boisterous talk of offing someone. No buzzing sound overhead to remind them of meal time in the prison cafeteria or time to go on lock down. Maybe it’s a little too calm, wonders Mickey, before opening his mouth.

“You ever live with another dude, Gallagher?”

Ian tips his head back to meet Mickey’s line of sight, waiting for an explanation for the question that seemingly came from out of nowhere. “Other than you? Uh, no. You know that already.”

“Just checking.”

“Why? Did you think something changed all of a sudden?”

Mickey shakes his head. He does already know the answer. Ian has told him about all the guys he’s been with, even the time he lost his virginity in high school—BK. _Before Kash._ What else were they supposed to talk about while they were locked up in the joint? It probably wasn’t the wisest choice of topics, but Mickey wasn’t as jealous as he thought he might be, even when Ian told him everything about the two douchebags he’d banged while Mickey was doing time. Well, almost everything. Some things are better left unsaid.

It doesn’t matter now. Everyone and their fucking brother on the Southside know that he and Ian belong to each other. They have the rings to prove it. Mickey doesn’t even know why he chose this moment to pick at old wounds.

“What about you?” Ian asks. _Turnabout's fair play_ , Mickey realizes.

“Me? Living with somebody? Thought we talked about this.”

“Nope,” Ian says matter-of-factly, crossing his arms over his chest and pressing his weight into Mickey. It’s kinda cute since he’s already practically laying on top of the brunet and probably means to be menacing; Mickey isn't intimidated.

“Are we counting cellies?”

“No. But other countries are on the table.”

Mickey laughs. “I already told you, what happens in Mexico stays in Mexico. You tryin’ to catch me in a weak moment?”

Ian gets quiet, probably scowling, though Mickey can’t tell for sure since he’s turned his face towards the front door of their place. Mickey knows it pisses Ian off that he hasn’t been more forthcoming with the details from that time in his life. It’s for Ian’s protection more than anything, he isn’t trying to be mysterious or fuck with the guy.

“Fine,” Mickey sighs, not wanting to deal with Ian sulking, not in their new place. “The answer is ‘no’. I didn’t live with anyone else. Not like this.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” 

There’s an awkward silence between them now, which totally sucks since they’ve talked about most of this shit before. It was a dumb topic to bring up in the first place. _Hell, maybe we should fuck,_ thinks Mickey. Fucking is what they do best, isn’t it? That’s when they’re all in, and nothing else matters. Mickey is about to remind Ian of as much when…

“You know, Mick. I’ve never loved anyone but you.”

Mickey’s heart starts to beat faster in his chest, and he knows it can’t be in sync with Ian’s at the moment. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Same,” he whispers and reaches across Ian’s chest, nudging his hand, and the redhead weaves their fingers together.

“Are you worried about us being on our own, just you and me?” Ian asks. “No family drama. No running from the law. No distractions.”

“Nah. Don’t think so.”

“It’s definitely new for us.”

 _“Good_ new?”

“Really good new. Fucking great new.”

Ah, Ian has cracked the code. He’s figured out what Mickey was fishing for when even he himself couldn’t put it into words. New place. New them. Well, old them with all of their shitty baggage, but still new.

Ian lifts a tattooed hand towards his lips and places gentle kisses along each knuckle. Mickey hums and looks over into the guest bedroom. He can tell the walls aren’t dry yet. They have time. They have all the time in the world now.

**Author's Note:**

> Gracias, EH! You’re always there when I need ya.
> 
> @haflacky (on tumblr) thank you for the gorgeous piece!


End file.
